


i need my girl

by geckosandstarks



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Canon, Romantic Soulmates, SOULMATES AW YEAH, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:38:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckosandstarks/pseuds/geckosandstarks
Summary: 'stop fucking writing on me.'Kate blinked. Well that was rude.(In which the words you write on your skin appear on your soulmates skin also - Seth is not amused by this.)





	1. join the party princess

**Chapter One**  
Kate had always had pretty handwriting.

  
Ever since she was a little girl, people had crooned and gushed over her pretty cursive and loopy letters. She'd always simpered in the light of the attention, giggling with a gentle blush and gratitude tumbling from her lips.

  
She remembers the evenings spent bent over the maroon family table, furiously brushing away strands of auburn hair as she inked away her daddy's favourite slams. The way he'd lilt in delight when she proudly presented her tiny masterpiece, adorned with glitter and a seashell frame. Of course Scott would always tease, but even he could not facade his pleasure at being gifted with written tokens of his own.

  
Of course, she wouldn't just write out slams and prayers, but quotes and tiny stories, spanning the lifetimes of dragons and princesses and girls with pretty eyes and boy with pretty souls. She'd even take to writing on herself sometimes, as she'd often find herself short of paper, eyes sparkling in pure wonderment as she traced her own inky words against her pale, pretty skin.

  
It was a moment like this in which Kate found herself when it happened. She'd been writing again, aimlessly coiling a bible verse down her calf when she felt it - the jut of the pen as it pressed harshly against her skin. Of course, this wasn't a sensation with which she was entirely unfamiliar with, in fact, she was quite accustomed to prickle of the pen, but this time there was something entirely different, something terrifyingly unfamiliar in the feeling, almost verging on intimate.

  
And so she watched in stupefied shock as the tiny, block letters materialised on her skin, the grip of the pen so harsh that they were each surrounded by their own angry red haze.

  
_stop fucking writing on me_

  
Kate blinked. Well that was rude. Biting her lip in cautious curiosity, she trembled out her own response.

  
_**I'm not writing on you, I'm writing on me.** _

  
_well, can you not?_

  
Kate scoffed audibly, her wariness fading in place of offence. She could feel the bluntness of the words that were not her own as though it was buzzing through her.

  
**_You don't have to be so rude!_**

  
_i wouldn't be if you could just fucking quit it_

  
Her mouth fell open as she glared down at the text.

  
_honestly im just surprised you havent given us both ink poisoning with all that bible shit you write_

  
_i mean, what the fuck is a corinthian and whats he so fuckin preachy about anyway_

  
Kate shook her head in mute disbelief as the messages continued to pour through, filling up her skin as though it was a canvas. The absurdity of the situation began to dawn on her as she watched the curses drift down to her fingertips, and she clenched the pen tightly in her fist.

  
**_I'm going insane._ **

  
She felt a strange hum sing through her, almost like a laugh.

  
_join the party princess_


	2. bible verses and bullet holes

**Chapter 2**  
For the next few weeks, Kate can barely glance at a pen without trembling.

  
Each morning, she spends at least an hour in front of the mirror, twisting her body every which way , searching for the dark, inky letters she's sure will appear. But after two weeks of scanning and squinting, only to be met with naught but the smooth expanse of her own pale skin, Kate began to think that she really had, for a moment there, lost her mind.

  
And now, for every word she loops she feels as though she is writing a script that is not her own - she notices that the swirl of the l extends too far, imagines the rough scribble of a black biro pen on top of her own inky words and the scrawl of a word too ungodly to even mumble aloud.

  
That's not all though - for not only is she captivated with the echo of the bumpy, broken doodles left behind, but the person behind them. Did she truly imagine a whole conversation with herself, on her own skin? Or is there someone... someone else? Someone in this big, vast world who.. who what, shares her soul? Because not only does she remember the conversation, but the little jolts she'd got along with it - the hum of a laugh, the blunt drawl of a glare and even, a hint of a smile, she thinks.

  
She ponders these thoughts regularly, enough that she's starting to lose track of her own mind. At breakfast one morning, her father notes how clear she's kept her skin the past couple of weeks (and her mother, well her mother doesn't say much at all - she's been quiet lately, oddly reserved) and for some, strange reason, that is the last straw. She stands abruptly, so much so that even her mother deigns to glance up at her and scrambles for an excuse to leave the table. Her brother squints at her and her father's face etches in worry, but he nods at her request and Kate trips up the stairs to her room two at a time.

  
Trembling through short, shallow breaths, she raises a pen to her arm and slowly, carefully writes out her words.

  
**_Are you real?_ **

  
The letters mock her, staring back at her for the fool she feels in the moment where no reply comes. Ten minutes pass with no response and she groans, dropping her pen as she sinks to the floor. What did she expect? This was all an experiment, a horrible, terrible, failed experiment and-

  
Wait.

  
Oh. Oh.

  
_last time i checked_

  
Well. If she really is crazy, at least her own company is entertaining enough.

  
**_Are you sure?_ **

  
_no im a fucking unicorn made of bible verses and bullet holes_

  
Never mind. She's annoying. Her own company sucks.

  
_the question here little girl, is who are you?_

  
She frowns.

  
_**Not a little girl. Kate, my name is Kate.** _

  
_are you sure?_

  
She glares as she feels it again - the grin that's not her own, a smirk against her skin too sinful to be of her own making. Muttering nonsensical insults under her breath, she switches over to her other arm, having the other being devoured in ink.

  
**_You're funny. Tell me, how do you feel about bible verses on your forehead? I can think of some Psalms that you would just adore._ **

  
She tries to keep the writing small, but ends up giggling through it and watches the words seep down to her fingertips. The response is almost instant.

  
_oh just you try it princess_

  
_don't think im above drawing dicks on my own face_

  
_because im not_

  
Kate's eyebrows shoot up, feeling the essence of the challenge running through her veins. She bites her lip, decides to change the subject.

  
**_I still don't know your name._ **

  
_a terrible shame_

  
She tsks, rolling her eyes.

  
**_You're not going to tell me?_ **

  
_i don't know you_

  
**_I said mine!_ **

  
_i didnt ask_

  
She groans in frustration and drops her head forward, hoping that whoever they are, they feel it. She peeks up again when she feels the pen along her foot.

  
_oh dont go getting all moody now_

  
_kate_

  
_katie_

  
_katiecakes_

  
Despite herself and despite them, she grins.

  
_**My daddy calls me that.** _

  
_jesus fuck how old are you kid_

  
She narrows her eyes on the last word, and then smirks dangerously.

  
**_12, is that bad?_ **

  
_..._

  
**_I can get my daddy if that would help._ **

  
She laughs aloud at the sudden nervousness that seizes her, knowing it to not be her own. She feels the tug then, like something within her unraveling as they feel it - her laughter.

  
_you're fucking with me_

  
**_Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!_ **

  
_oh real fuckin funny sweetheart_

  
_makin me think i was some dirty old man_

  
Her eyes glint at the slip. While suspecting that he might have been male, it was good to have it confirmed.

  
**_Ah, so you're a man?_ **

  
_congrats sherlock_

  
She rolls her eyes, grinning. She's just about to scribble something else when she hears the shout of her daddy at the bottom of the stairs for Church. She calls back that she'll be down soon, frowning down at herself - there isn't a patch of her skin visible that hasn't been covered with ink. She jumps up, and flicks the shower on as she considers her reply.

  
**_Gotta go, but don't worry, I'm 18, Sir Ihavetobemysterious._ **

  
_i guess that's better than 12_

  
_and that's mr to you young lady_

  
She grins and well, if Scott later comments on the scribble of the word 'fuck' on her skin, it's definitely worth it. 


	3. very cold and very small

** Chapter Three **

The next time he writes her a message, Scott sees it first.

  
She's lounging alongside her brother in their stuffy living room, watching reruns of some old western movie. The television hums dismally on in the background, but she doesn't have the concentration to pay it any real heed. It's summertime, and Bethel has surrendered to the blistering Texan sun - the air is thick and clogged with heat, and the town seems to heave a momentous breath of exhaustion against the harsh, sweltering climate.

  
But Kate is not worn down by the heat - admittedly, it is tiring to be confined within the sultry, stifling town, but Kate has long since been a resident of the town's misadventures and is more than accustomed to the airless Texas summers.

  
What worries her, she thinks as her mother stumbles into the room, is the state of mind of those closest to her.

  
"Mamma?" Kate asks, rising. Her mother turns to look at her with dull, lifeless eyes and gives her a dull, lifeless smile.

  
"Hi baby." She says, and Kate hopes she is imagining the slight slur in her lilting tone.

  
"Mom, are you alright?" Scott asks, treading carefully towards her side. He holds her arm loosely and she nods faintly, running her palm down his cheek.

  
"I'm just tired." She mumbles as she drops her hand and steps away from her children. She sways up the stairs, Kate watching with unshed tears as she goes. She's always tired, these days.

  
Kate drops her head, bringing her arm around her stomach to steady herself and wonders just how far her mother has fallen from the embrace of God. The fear for her wrecks over her and Kate shivers, suddenly very cold, and very small.

  
"Kate, what is that?"

  
She doesn't register his voice at first, but jerks when Scott picks up her wrist. His eyes go wide as he watches the letters transpire in front of him.

  
"Kate, what...?"

  
Kate yanks her arm away from him suddenly, fear rimming around the edge of her glossy green eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, to explain, when she is bulldozed with the realization that she can't say anything, because she can't explain.

  
So, naturally, she bolts. She jumps up the stairs, ignoring his cofused shouts after her, and slams her bedroom door shut. Shuddering, she sinks down and lets her head drops between her knees. She gives herself a moment, trying to steady her breathing.

  
Frowning, she becomes suddenly aware that her wrist is pulsing. Looking down, she watches the words as they pile up on her skin.

  
_hey kid, you alright?_

  
_shit kate whats going on??_

  
_KATE_

  
Blinking down at the words, she absentmindedly reaches for a pen.

  
**_What, what is it?_ **

  
_are you alright? are you hurt? did something happen?_

  
Again, she frowns, confused.

  
_**I'm fine. Not hurt and why? What's wrong?** _

  
She feels it then, the relief washes over her. Her heart, which she hadn't realized had been beating so loudly, begins to slow in her chest, and her trembling fingers steady.

  
_fucking hell_

  
_you scared the shit out of me_

  
**_What are you talking about?_ **

  
She feels the hesitation and tilts her head.

  
_its_

  
_its difficult to explain_

  
**_?_ **

  
His urgency slows as the words are slow to appear. Both her thoughts and his are a jumble of confusion and she shakes her head to try and clear them.

  
_its like_

  
_like i felt you_

  
_like everything you were feeling, so was i_

  
_you were scared_

  
Her eyes widen. Of course, she'd had jolts every now and then, but not to the extent he seems to have felt it.

  
**_I was._ **

  
_..._

  
_i fucking felt you kate_

  
Her breath catches for a moment. She knows he feels it.

  
_this uh_

  
_this has never happened before_

  
She doesn't reply.

  
_do you.._

  
_do you want to um, talk about it?_

  
She feels the slight smile tug on her lips at his words. This isn't easy for him, she knows. He's not a talker.

  
**_No._ **

  
**_But thanks._ **

  
His relief is palpable, almost as much as his worry is. There's silence between them then, not just in their skin, but in their minds. He's louder in her head than ever before, she feels the shadow of his emotions against her own as though they might as well be her own. It's difficult to distinguish them clearly, and she understands why he was so concerned.

  
**_What are we?_ **

  
She trails the world along her left palm, and feels his answer blossom on the right.

  
_looks like we're just gonna have to find out princess_

  
_oh by the way if you're stuck in my head i might as well just tell you_

  
Her eyebrows raise, confused.

  
_seth_

  
Softly, she smiles.

  
_**It's good to meet you, Seth.** _

  
_its good to meet you, kate._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out with me on tumblr :)>> wandasmaximoffss.tumblr.com


	4. crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the reviews left so far! I love to hear that you guys are enjoying the story! :) 
> 
> oh and just a little fyi regarding the structure, this is all pre canon, and the story will mostly follow the events of s1 (with -slight- alterations of course) I think. Still planning it out, but hey, here's chapter four! :)

**** ** Chapter Four **

In the weeks that follow, Kate consumes herself within her research. Bewildered by the notion of the man called Seth, and his words that seem to leave a blazing trail along the pale expanse of her skin, she spends hours hooked around her laptop, enthralling herself within the microscopic details of any article she can find (which, unsurprisingly, are few and far in between) even vaguely related to the prospect of randomly appearing letters and erratic, sarcastic quips. Though for all her research, Kate cannot seem to identify a morsel of knowledge, a crumb of detail, that helps her understand her inky manifestation any more so than she currently does – which is, not at all. So here’s what she knows.

First, somewhere out there, somewhere far and distant, there is a man called Seth. That’s about the extent of her knowledge on him – despite the fact that she can literally feel his presence in her brain and that they seem to practically share the same skin, he refuses to tell her his last name.

Men.

Second, everything Seth feels, she’s starting to feel. There’s no way she can exactly describe it and sometimes the connection is a little shaky, but ever since her first contact with him, it’s as though she’s hit with a resounding echo of his happiness, his anger, his stress. (He’s stressed a lot.) The more he feels it, the more she does. And while it’s not as though she can read his thoughts or see through his eyes, she can read and see _him_ – there’s not a wall strong or tall enough that he can put up that she can’t break back down.

It’s difficult to grasp, this outlandish, alien theory that she could be connected to someone she’s never even met, in such an intimate, personal way. Seth is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to her. Their communications have only been transpiring for a couple of weeks, but she has no idea what the person on the other end looks like, who they are inside. It’s both terrifying and thrilling all at once, the prospect of Seth and his limited charms, and one Kate feels an obligation to indulge.

Sighing, she drops her pen. It’s late, and she’s spent yet another day cramped up in her bedroom, attempting to learn more about what her connection with Seth means. She’d, as usual, had little luck, but it was definitely a preferable option to being downstairs, where Scott pins her with heated, questioning gazes while refusing to say a word, her mother sits dimly on the floor with her head in her palms and silent tears staining her cheeks, and worst of all, her daddy, who is trying so, so hard to hold the tatters of their family together with a broken needle. If she’s being honest with herself (which seems to be a lot harder than it used to be), while she does want to know more about what Seth’s words on her skin means, the primary reason for all her work is that she’s glad to be able to distract herself with all the research, become so consumed within her project she’s almost able to forget about her mama’s sad, soulless eyes that drip with constant tears just a floor beneath her.

Almost.

She feels it then, the slow drawl of woe as it crawls around her shoulders. She shudders, feeling the misery swell in her stomach and expand, until she feels as though it is devouring her from the inside out. And, as if on cue (and because she knows he feels it too) she watches as the tiny block letters mist in a dull black haze to her wrist.

_figure out if we’re crazy yet?_

She smiles faintly. He never asks, but whenever the dull ache of wretchedness arises to kick her down, he seems to snap up to kick it right back.

**_Actually, the internet seems to lean more towards miracle._ **

_you say potato i say potato_

_pothato_

_you get the saying right_

She chuckles.

**_No, I was born yesterday. Never before have I heard the saying ‘potato, pothato.’_ **

**_You sure you’re not a miracle?_ **

_dicks on face, will draw – we’ve covered this_

Beside her, Kate’s phone lights up. She cringes when she sees the message from Kyle – a verse about love and beauty, she thinks. Sighing, she taps out a quick good night message, polite enough for a neighbour maybe, but not a boyfriend, and feels a stab of guilt for her neglect of his attention lately. Seth’s response is immediate.

_yikes kate did you just kill a puppy or something what was that_

She laughs aloud (something of a rarity these days) and trails the words along her knee.

**_Well, he has the well meaning, innocent nature of a puppy, so I guess in a sense._ **

_shit, crossroads?_

Kate feels his hesitance and curves her lips upwards slightly. Crossroads was the word they’d come up with when one of them had reached a boundary on something they didn’t want to talk about. Often this was Seth, with Kate the one who was pushing for information, which would often end with him remarking that ‘ _well it looks like we’re at a crossroads princess,_ ’ or something sarcastic amongst the like. Hence, the nickname – and well, it was shorter than them writing out how they really didn’t want to talk about it – Kate really did have limited skin space, here. However, for her, Kyle wasn’t a crossroads and well, nor was much else. Crossroads was for Seth more than anything, and they both knew that.

**_Not really, I’ve just been ducking him lately and I don’t feel good about it._ **

_ah_

He won’t push, she knows, because he never pushes. That’s always her, and for some reason, tonight, the impulse and nerve to push is a little higher than normal. He won’t push, so she’ll do it for him.

**_Seth, who are you?_ **

The question throws him off, and his answer is slow enough that’s she’s able to scrub an arm clean for more space to question.

_what?_

**_Well, I mean, I barely know you, not even your last name, but we share all these feelings, right? So I want to know you, and I think you want to know me._ **

She feels him stiffen. Feels herself stiffen. She’s not sure exactly who it is that’s uncomfortable, but she’s pretty sure it’s him.

_you dont want to know me_

**_Well, I don’t think I’ve got much of a choice, being as we’re stuck with each other here._ **

She knows that’s she’s wandered far off the path of their normal, mundane conversation. He’s hesitant suddenly, attempting to pull away from her in ways that he mentally cannot, and she tries not to be hurt by it.

_crossroads_

That’s all he writes. A single, tiny word scribbled harshly against her skin and flourished with the sting of rejection she feels. She tries to quell her anger, as pointless as it is to try and hide it from him, and momentarily fantasizes about the _essay_ she would write calling him out on his lack of effort on getting to know her. She growls out an angry breath, and drops her pen.

She doesn’t write again that night, and neither does he.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPE UR READY FOR THE SHIT LOAD OF ANGST THAT'S ABOUT TO COME UR WAY KIDDOS :)


	5. sad, black shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i warned u

** Chapter Five **

The thing about Katherine Fuller is that, she’s an incredibly stubborn person. Once, when she was seven years old, she refused to talk to her brother for _three weeks_ after he ate the last piece (and the piece she’d placed sacred, rightful dibs on) of her mother’s cherry pie. This treacherous crime was only forgiven upon the promise, by Scott, to never again commit such an act, as well as his singular admission that she was now, and henceforth, the superior sibling.

He still hadn’t lived that down.

In simple terms, while Kate was a kind, gentle do-gooder, she was also in the business of showing just how headstrong and difficult she could be when she felt right to do so in the case of abrupt rudeness or offence.

Seth had caused offence. And now, she was determined to see him pay for it. And while the impulse to scribble away a fleeting, witty sarcastic one liner somewhere hidden on her hip was often difficult to subdue, she fought it down for the sake of her wounded pride. (And, though she would never rightly admit it, her hurt feelings.) She stacked away her research, stowed away the notebooks she’d filled with theories and fantasies alike underneath her bed, and refused to pay them any heed. She tried to instead focus on her schoolwork, she was close to senior year after all, and her friends (but she wasn’t quite strong enough to yet focus on the tatters of her family), and even Kyle, who was sweet enough, even if that did seem somewhat tedious at times. But most of all, Kate tried to bury all and any thoughts of Seth. Alas, this was a much easier task said than done. Seth wasn’t an old friend, nor an ex boyfriend who’s calls she could ignore – he was practically a part of her. Every emotion, every pitfall he went through she did too – she could feel the very essence of what is was that made him happy, and the precise nature of what made him sad. Her skin was not only her own canvas but his too, every stroke of ink he bore himself was an affliction on her alike – they could not escape each other, because they were made up of each other. It was infuriating to say the least, but Kate was not a quitter. So, as much as she may have occasionally missed his brooding company or even once longed for the seldom snarky remark, she did not pick up a pen and so she did not write.

Unfortunately for the both of them, while they may have contrasted majorly in many ways, this was not one of them. Like Kate, Seth was not unfamiliar with denying himself that what made him happy for the sake of his bruised, limping pride. And so, while he too felt the loss of her cheery company in his dismal surroundings, he sensed her resilience, and so battled it with his own.

They were two children with no adults around to show them that the only ones they were punishing were themselves. That about sums it up.

.     .     .     .     .

Yawning loudly, Kate padded into her bedroom, closing the creaking wooden door quietly behind her. The curtain hooks scratched quietly against the pole as she pulled on the thin fabric to hide away the remains of the late winter sun. It wasn’t late at all really, but Kate felt drained from the events of the day – strange, being as she’d spent a quiet day at home.

She decided of all the things she was currently facing however, this was certainly not the strangest aspect to consider and, flicking off her bedroom light with a sigh, decided she could let this one go. As she climbed beneath her warm, soft sheets and wound in on herself she decided that, for once, she would not think too much about how her mother had not said a word at dinner tonight and gone straight to her room after, or about how it had been weeks since she’d last spoken to Seth but still felt him as strongly in her mind as ever, or even how her brother’s eyes never seemed to leave her wrist where he’d once seen the words she had not written appear. Tonight, Kate was simply content to sleep.

However, the world was not. At 4:31am precisely Kate awoke with a scream on her lips. Pain was exploding behind her eyelids, wrapping its hands around her pretty throat and suffocating her between gasps. She writhed in burning, white hot agony as the throbbing, shooting pain devoured her body with every stab it could. Ripping away her covers, she looked down at her body, expecting her stomach to be laying half open in front of her, but was caught in open mouthed stupor as she saw no visible ailment, no cuts, no bruises – she was as intact now as she had been when she’d fallen asleep.

She wailed again as the torture intensified– it was an inexplicable, indescribable pain, but it was _consuming_ her like nothing else. She felt as though the skin had been flayed down to her very bones and turned suddenly into her pillow to suppress a howl.

Blindly, she groped along in the darkness for a pen at her desk. Having seized it, she clutched urgently at her stomach with one hand while her nail beds bit into the flesh of the other. Sobbing through the wretched sensations laying waste to her body (and so she knew they must be his) she wrote the haphazard, irregular text swiftly onto her left palm and, having delivered her one word message, threw the pen across the room, clutched the cross at her neck, and screamed.

_STOP_

She did not count the seconds between the minutes between the hours that she lay there. To her then, time was an immeasurable concept – days could’ve passed in the blink of an eye and she would not have objected. Eventually, the pain, the nightmarish pain that had ravished every pure, hopeful thought that had come to surface, subsided. Kate was left only dimly aware of her own breaths and a deep ache in her bones. She wondered how Seth was still alive and did not worry that he wasn’t – if he could feel pain like he could feel that, he was definitely still breathing.

Kate became slowly aware of the brightening morning beyond her curtains. Blinking in exhaustion, she cautiously raised an arm to scrub her hand over her face and, catching sight of the scribbled ink of her palm, shuddered. She attempted to steady herself and turned to face the day hidden beyond the fabric, wondering if it would recover from the night she’d suffered through.

Four sharp taps on the front door roused Kate enough that she raised her head slightly. Frowning, she collapsed back onto the pillow and waited for one of her parents to answer. The knocks came again; more insistent this time and she groaned audibly.

When the banging came yet a third time, Kate snatched away her covers with a growl. She winced slightly as she stood, and threw her door open to yell at Scott to get the door when she realized that he’d slept over at a friend’s house and murmured irritably.

As she resigned herself to answering the door, she noted that her parent’s bedroom door was wide open.

“Well then why-“ She demanded, marching over to the door only to stop suddenly. Her parent’s bed was empty, the blankets lying crumpled on the floor. The pillows were tossed languidly along the mattress and the sheet had come off it almost altogether. There were clothes scattered along the floor, the wardrobe door had been yanked all together off the hinges and now lay woefully on its side.

As Kate turned towards the staircase in dread, she noticed clear, dark imprints of mud staining the white carpet and, tossed dismally to the side, a single, black shoe – her mother’s favourite pair.

Panic heightened her every sense and with trembling fingers, Kate darted down the stairs quickly and jerked open the front door.

In front of her was a Texas Ranger. She knew him well – Bethel was a small town after all, and he was the head of the force. Major Joel Moore, his name was.

Major Joel Moore looked tired. He stood doleful in front of her, his head tipped downwards as so not to meet her gaze and his hat clutched carefully in his palm.

“Where are my parents?” Kate blurted out, her mother’s shoe clutched in her palm. Major Moore noticed this, and looked upon her with dark, regretful eyes.

“Kate, maybe I should come inside-” He tried gently, but Kate stood resolutely at the door, bringing the shoe up to her chest.

“Where are my parents, Major?” She asked again, louder this time, her hysteria rising in the face of his reluctance to answer.

He sighed, as though readying himself.

“There’s been an accident.”

And Kate choked, rushing away from him and seizing the remote. She flicked on the television and switched to the morning news, muttering quickly under her breath.

“No no no no.” She whispered as the smiling faces of her mother and father filled this screen.

_‘Last night at 11:54pm husband and wife Jennifer and Jacob Fuller were found on Hecklestreet road after receiving a panicked call from the town’s resident minister, Jacob Fuller. Upon arriving on the scene, paramedics found that whilst the minister had only sustained minor injuries, his wife, Jennifer Fuller had been fatally injured in the crash and died moments before the call was made. Authorities are questioning why the pair had travelled from their suburban home at such a time and are further asking-“_

Distantly, Kate is aware that the officer is speaking to her. He’s telling her that her father and brother are at the hospital and that he’s come to take her to them and he’s assuring her that her mother felt no pain and that it was very quick and that she’s with God now. Kate turns to him. She smiles.

“Thank you, Major. I’ll be along soon.” His features etch in concern but he nods as he heads towards the door. He places a quick, hesitant hand on her shoulder and Kate says nothing. The door shuts gently behind him and then

she

breaks.

Kate drops to the floor, and screams. She doesn’t care if the Major hears, or if the neighbours hear or if _anyone_ hears because her heart has just been _ripped_ from her chest and feels the loss of it like the blood dripping down her stomach.

She wails in open anguish and weeps into her open palms. It’s not _right,_ it’s not _just_ and it’s not _fair_ because her mother was a good, pure soul and what good did that do her? She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s _dead_ and gone and all Kate can think about is how she’ll never get to tell her she loves her again, and how she never said it enough at all. The world has always been a cold, cruel place but now it has taken her mother and for all the goodness in her Kate wants to rip it apart with her bare hands.

Jennifer Fuller was her heart. Her whole heart.

Her heart is broken.

Kate glances up, the tears saturating her green, glossy eyes. The news still reports on her mother, talks about how much she will be missed, a loved member of the community, they say.

And Kate is so much more than _bitter_ and angry and broken but no more so than in that moment. She doesn’t want to hear it, she needs them to stop _talking_ like that because she really hasn’t accepted that her mother is gone and it can’t be true, it can’t, it _can’t._

She raises her fists and smashes them against the television screen. She hits it again and again and again and fuels everything she has into it then – her rage, her misery, her grief, _everything_ that she is made up of in that moment. It buzzes on still and she _screams_ and watches as the screen shatters around her.

The room falls into a distilled silence, like the settling of the sea after a vicious storm and Kate trembles. Broken glass announces itself loudly as it thrusts outwards from her bloody palms. Her blood drips quietly onto her mother’s black shoe and an ugly, broken smile claims her lips. She raises her arm and watches with dull eyes as the words form on her skin.

**_what the fuck are you doing kate?_ **

She blinks. Reaches for a pen.

_it was too loud_

**_stop it. i know it hurts._ **

Her fist clenches and she’s almost glad for the sharp, stinging pain in her hand.

_you don’t know anything_

She’s too hazy in her own grief to sense his hurt.

**_What happened?_ **

The words are cautious, slow. And she’s so a _ngry_ that it’s all she can do to not scream again.

_fuck you_

His shock is just enough to crack through her layers of anguish and woe. She feels it, and hates that she does.

_you want to know me now? now you care? big bad man decide that underneath all his complete bullshit and selfishness, oh he cares. youre a fucking joke seth and you know what? one day youll be miserable and alone because you push away anyone that shows they could care_

**_listen, Kate-_ **

_IM NOT DONE_

She can feel the venom as it laces through her, dripping through every word she paints on her skin. She wants him to feel it. He’s silent. She knows he does.

_you. repulse. me. i hate this all of it and i wish that id never met you. my life was so much easier when you WERE NOT IN IT_

Oh god she feels it. She knows, somewhere deep down, not so clouded by her grief and her anger that she’s giving him more than he deserves, but she can’t stop herself. Her world has collapsed around her and she’s forgotten that that means his has, too. He says nothing, but she feels how much of a mark her words have left, she knows her words have cut him deeper than any physical pain could.

She can’t stop herself, though.

_you were right_

_i don’t want to know you_

She’s done.

So is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sorry lol  
> I planned out up to chapter ten today and dw they have met by then (just about) but with like SO MUCH ANGST ALL THE TIME and yeah it should be a lot of fun
> 
> tell me what you guys thought of this chapter! :)


	6. little black bottle

** Chapter Six **

Kate does not deal with the loss of her mother well.

She has trouble accepting that her wholesome, pretty picture family unit is broken. She spends nights tossing and turning every which way her body allows, replaying over and over again the night of her parent’s crash. She imagines her mother slamming through windshield, her comely dark hair spread daintily around her as she bleeds out in the middle of the road. She imagines her father, beside her in these final moments, clutching to her hand as her soul drifted away. She tries to imagine what her mother’s final thoughts may have been, whether they were of her, whether they were of heaven, she hopes that they were pure and she hopes that they were good. She finds that her mind is her own worst enemy – it pulls the darkest, deepest fears from her soul and makes her suffer through every.

Single.

One.

It’s only worse when she sleeps – the second she closes her eyes she’s taunted by her mother’s haunting memory, with each hellish dream she endures the crash becomes worse, more gruesome, less merciful on her poor mama’s soul.

So when she does sleep, she often wakes up screaming. Her father would always run in, restraining her arms as she thrashed violently about the bed and whisper gentle, soothing words of comfort. Some nights she sobs deeply into his old, tattered nightshirt, allowing herself to regress to a simpler time while he cradles her head in his weary palms, rocking back and forth reverently as he strokes her hair, and chokes back bitter sobs of his own.

Others she simply asks to him to leave, tells him she is fine, and cries on her own.

Kate has never felt so alone. She finds no comfort where she ought to – not in her own mind, not in the people she loves, not even in God. She knows her father is trying – he’s trying so, so hard for her and for Scott, but his efforts don’t help her. He refuses to even touch the topic of the night of the crash. Every time Kate tries to mention it his eyes darken and then flicker shut, like the dying flame of a once bright candle. However, when they open they’re as luminous as ever and he’ll smile, and Kate will convince herself she’s imagining things.

(She’s not.)

Scott isolates himself from her. He is moody and distant and refuses to look into her watery eyes when she mentions their mother. He sits, silently, tucked away in a corner like a ticking time bomb and Kate is terrified with every second that passes that he does not erupt because she thinks, dimly, he will not be able to build himself back up until he first breaks himself down.

Even her beloved boyfriend, a boy built on the very principle of love and God and All That Is Good, Right And Just does not know how to take her. With every day Kate wallows deeper into despair he splutters for a way to help. He sends her bible quotes, tells her to be strong and that her mother is in a better place now. He tries. She knows that she should be endeared by this, by his efforts and, in some sense, she really is. In another, she is really not. His words don’t help her, not even the little bit she tries to pretend they do and as much as she wishes she could appreciate the sentiment, she cannot appreciate the dull, empty tenderness he offers. Her friends, to their credit, try really hard to talk to her for the first two months. But after two months of ducked calls, ignored messages and hiding in the kitchen when they come to knock at her door, their friendship reaches an expiration date. She tries not to feel guilty that she doesn’t miss them. (Mostly, surprisingly, it works.)

Seth hasn’t tried speaking to her at all in the past few months. Not at all. It stings, she thinks more than it should. She knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, buried deep beneath her grief and sorrow and adamant refusal to accept her current reality, that she hurt him more than she ought too. Because yes, he’s rude and arrogant and ridiculously guarded for a person who (pretty much) shares her soul, and yes his dismissal of her was unwarranted and hurtful and _yes,_ he’s more than just a little rough around his own jaded corners – while yes, all of this is true and accurate and very fair, Kate took out her anger on the world at him and whilst he is _disturbingly_ complex, he is not a world, he is a man, and he did not deserve it.

She knows this, but she refuses to acknowledge it. It persists at the back of her mind akin to that of an irritated bug bite – the more she tries to disregard it, the more it exasperates her.

Every blinking moment of her dismal existence, Kate tries not to pick at that bug bite. Perhaps it would be easier for her, were she not so violently unsettled by Seth’s emotions. He may refuse to talk to her, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel him, insistently pervading her head space. His emotions bounce around her in a hurried frenzy and it’s almost impossible not to be affected by it. He’s erratic, worried and constantly unsettled, prowling her mind as though a caged animal. She can’t seem to claim the words to describe it fully, but she senses it – like he’s waiting on the sunset to rise on a town he otherwise thought long dead – like he’s waiting on something big. She has no idea what’s he’s going through to have him in such a volatile nature, but the feeling of it invades her mind enough – she has no time or space to process the reason for it. Plus, she knows he doesn’t want to talk to her. Bitterness had never tasted as strong and deep as it does on him.

So Kate tries not to focus on him. It’s not an entirely successful plan, but being clouded enough with the fog of her own misery, she can sometimes pretend it doesn’t affect her as much as it really does.

Again, not entirely successful.

The reminder of him comes painfully blunt one late Sunday afternoon. She’s listening to her father talk absent-mindedly, offering a vague nod in response every so often. Scott is laying the table, grumbling. She sighs quietly, listening to the metal grunt against the wooden table between Scott’s quiet complaints. Smiling weakly at her father, she picks up the ceramic bowl of buttered peas and takes a step towards the table when she stops, suddenly and doubles over, gasping sharply as the bowl slips from her hands and shatters at her feet.

Oh _god_ the pain. It’s there again, like the one the night of the crash. Her vision hazes as she tries to focus on the array of green peas lying sorrowfully at her feet. Clutching her stomach she groans as the sensation settles in her bones. She suppresses a scream only because she feels her father’s hand on her back and Scott’s voice, only just laced with concern.

“Kate, honey, are you alright?” She looks up at her father and nods, trying to smile as she grits her teeth and tastes blood.

“I’m fine daddy, I just need... a second.” She’s forced to suck in a sudden breath as a new wave of pain rolls over her stomach, surging forwards to rush against her spine in a sudden, brutal ambush.

“Kate, you don’t look so good.” Scott says, taking a few hesitant steps towards her. She shakes her head in response, stumbling backwards.

“I just need... Just, hold on.” She mumbles as quickly as she can, staggering up the stairs. She can barely haul herself up onto the top step but she manages, surprised the railing does not splinter beneath her. Tumbling ungracefully into the bathroom, she slams the door audibly, keeling over at the sink as she heaves.

Whereas the pain before had been white hot, blisteringly intense, she’s able to make some sense of this one. It hurts, yes, but she doesn’t quite feel as though someone has reached inside her and with a tug, unravelled her spine. But oh, she thinks as something sharp stings sweetly against her skin, it _definitely_ still hurts. She groans loudly, reaching her hand up to grab onto something solid to steady herself. The bathroom cupboard is open and as her hand plunges upwards and she clenches her fist tightly, toiletries tumble onto the ground, bouncing slightly on the pale blue tiles.

She pays it no heed, focusing on her breathing and wishing she could manipulate whatever connection she has with Seth so she could tell him to give it a _goddamn rest._

(She wonders if the girl she was five months ago would’ve ever used the name of Lord in such a way. She wonders if she cares, and is not comforted by the knowledge that deep down, she knows she doesn’t.)

The suffering is brief, however. Unlike last time, the affliction has barely started before it’s over. Shaking quietly where she stands, she glances up and winces at her reflection. Her pale skin looks almost translucent in the harsh, artificial bathroom light, and only exaggerates the purple bruises underneath her eyes. Her green eyes are dull and lacking and her hair isn’t doing much better, hanging in loose, greasy strands around her face.

She wonders what her mama would think of her now (so that she doesn’t have to think about how similar she looks to her mother now in the weeks leading up to her death).

She shudders away from the mirror and trips slightly over the assorted toiletries in disarray on the bathroom floor. Blinking in dull realization, she bends down to pick them up. She sighs as she drops the articles into her palms, making a mental note to remind her father that they need some more dental floss when she sees something unfamiliar and frowns.

Depositing the commodities at the back of the cupboard, she picks up the small bottle of pills. There’s a small, black bottle with no official label. In place of this, a dirty, ripped piece of white paper has been attached to the bottle with the word ‘ _happies’_ scrawled in shaky handwriting, next to a crudely drawn smiley face.

Biting her lip, Kate hesitantly unscrews the lid of the bottle and pours the content out on her palms – only three tablets are left.

She’s just peering closer when she jumps suddenly at a quick succession of sharp taps at the bathroom door.

“Kate? Dad said to come and get you for dinner... You alright?” Scott’s voice resonates loudly from behind the door and Kate, feeling as though she’s been caught in the act of something she ought not to have been doing, drops the bottle on the bathroom sink, the pills falling in. She drops the lid on the top and leaves the bathroom quickly, shutting the door behind her.

“So, dinner?” She asks brightly, ignoring Scott’s suspicious glance and slipping lightly down the stairs.

.     .     .     .     .     .

Dinner passes in silence.

As Kate settles at her seat she brushes off her father’s concerns and swears that she’s fine. To prove this, she fills up her plate to the brim, smiling brightly as she does so. She forces it down too, despite her complete lack of appetite.

During the meal, she mostly keeps her head bent down, looking to her plate. However, she can’t seem to help stealing a few fugitive glances at her father, thinking of the mysterious black bottle lying just above their heads. Dinner does little to distract her from her thoughts and she finds herself quickly consumed with the life of that bottle and what it means.

Jacob’s cutlery clanks loudly on his plate and Kate and Scott look up in equal surprise. Wiping his mouth, he smiles at his children and clears his throat.

“I know, uh that we haven’t had our Sunday meal in a while, not since...” He trails off awkwardly and Kate and Scott exchange weary glances. He coughs, retaining his bright smile.

“But I have an announcement.”

He looks from them and Kate sees the spark of excitement flickering in his eyes. He stands suddenly, so much so that the table jilts forward slightly and Kate jumps. He beckons them to follow them and loudly instructs they shut their eyes. Sighing, Kate easily complies but Scott makes work of it, complaining and grumbling the entirety of the way. Eventually, Kate elbows him to make him shut up and, rolling his eyes, he shuts his eyes.

Jacob guides the teens safely onto the porch, letting go of their arms. Kate hears his retreating footsteps and bites her lip. What is he doing?

“Alright, go on and open them!”

Kate does and at first, winces at the Texan sun. Bringing up her hand to shade her eyes she notices it and her mouth drops open.

“Holy shit.”

Kate’s inclined to agree with her brother’s sentiment.

Their father stands with his arms outthrust in front of a _monster_ of an RV. Kate struggles to understand how it even fit in their drive with a berth the size that it boasts. It’s an off yellow and a ridiculously large vehicle, so much so that it almost blots the setting sun behind it.

“Watch your mouth, Scott.” Jacob warns, but Kate hears the slight mirth behind his threatening tone.

“Daddy, I...” Kate trails off, literally unable to find the words to describe _this._

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Their father asks, grinning. He turns to look up at it, running his hand almost wistfully along the tinted window. “Just what we need.”

“Wait, what? Dad, what’s going on?” Scott asks, stepping down from the porch. Kate’s still too caught up in her own shock to follow him, studying the vehicle.

Their father grins widely, snatching his gaze away from the RV and stepping towards his children, practically bubbling in excitement.

“We’re goin’ travelling. This RV is more than big enough than the three of us and I thought-“

“Wait, wait, daddy what? Travelling?” Kate asks, finally stepping outside her amazement. She frowns slightly, tipping her head to the side. “What about school?”

Jacob looks slightly winded from her lack of excitement but fights to regain his cheery composure. “Well, you’re both smart kids, I’m sure you can catch up, and if not, we can always go back to home schoolin’.”

Scott splutters and Kate’s eyebrows raise. “Homeschool?” Scott demands, clearly unimpressed. “No way am I going back to being _that_ kid.”

Kate steps forward, just a little behind Scott. “Daddy, I don’t think that this is the best idea-“ Kate tries gently but their father interrupts quickly, his happiness dulled.

“No, both of you. Stop it, you stop that right now.” He demands, almost harshly, and Kate almost staggers back at the anger behind his words.

“Dad, c’mon-“

“Daddy, I-“

“We’re doing this.” He snaps. “We’re doing this and you might not like it but that’s final.” He almost _glowers_ at his children, his voice clear and strong. They blink at him in shock, confused by his sudden change of emotions. He drops his head, sighing, and pulls his hand into his hand, eyes downcast.

“It’ll be good for us. Ever since...” He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He looks back at up them, in earnest this time.

“It’ll be good for us.”

Kate and Scott stare at their father for a long time. The atmosphere between the three is taught with tension, though their father pleads with his gaze for it not to be. Eventually, Scott scoffs and storms off, brushing past Kate as he goes, the porch door slamming shut behind him. Sighing, Kate looks up at her father who watches with sad eyes the space Scott had just left. His fingers curl tightly around his hat and she _knows_ she’s not imagining the despondent gleam she sees reflected in his eyes now.

 His gaze flicks over too her, so hopeful it hurts.

She can barely stand to look at him, the thought of the little bottle of pills nagging painfully at the back of her mind. She drops her eyes as to not meet his gaze and follows after Scott, not looking up as he sighs.

.     .     .     .     .

When she returns to the bathroom an hour later, the pills are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i PROMISE there's interaction in the next chapter but I wanted singular kate development u feel


	7. there is no flaw in you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT U LUCKY DUCKS GETTING TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY

** Chapter Seven **

Very quickly, Kate grows uncomfortable around her father. It was never something she expected she would feel as far as Jacob Fuller was concerned, she’d always looked up to him, in everything she did and so everything that she hoped to do, but she quickly learned that such bright, dreamy feelings could be quickly derailed by the toxicity of doubt as it burned away to reveal mistrust. She no longer trusted her father. It was a sad statement indeed, but not so made any less true by the sentiment.

He’s different, she thinks. Her father had always been a beacon of light for her, and for Scott (and for her mother too, she hopes sincerely), and while part of her would have her pretend that he is still so, he’s changed. Not to say that the light isn’t still there because she thinks yes, he still has a certain, unambiguous glow that persists despite all the surrounding tragedy, but it’s _different._ It’s blighted, tainted even. Her father isn’t a beacon anymore - he’s barely a flame.

She knows he’s trying. Her daddy always tries. (She thinks that may be the most tragic thing about him.) He shuns away every mumble of misery as it creeps up on the unfortunate trio, his smiles and laughs aggressively bright in the face of the ruination their lives have come to. Sometimes, Kate almost wishes she’d never found that disaster of a bottle buried behind dental floss and old toothpaste. She inculpates the pills for snatching away the trust of the only parent she has left, bitter and angry at the bottle because she can’t be bitter and angry at the world.

(Well, she can, but from the past she’s found that this tends not to yield positive results for her, or for those around her.)

And then Kate remembers who her daddy was, and who he’s trying so hard to be. She remembers her mama. It hurts, but the reminder is bold and bad enough that she remembers who _she_ is and knows that she’s glad that hidden bottle tumbled into her palm.

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. God had never let her down before and, leaning down to clutch the cross lying limply on her neck, Kate decides she will trust that he will not let her down now. (She still prays. She promises herself she will never stop. She promises He is listening and almost entirely believes it.)

As it turns out, there is not much to do on an RV. While Kate can’t claim to be stunned by this revelation, it is certainly a hindrance. She has very little to occupy her time, other than spend time with her brother and father, cringe at the messages Kyle insists on messaging her _daily_ or read through the Bible, which her father seems to crammed in every available space he can do so without being excessive, and then some.

So, naturally, Kate spends the most time in her own mind. She thinks about her mother, or more accurately, her mother’s death. She agonizes over the events, opening herself up to all the pain she’d tried so desperately to hide away. Because really, what reason _did_ her parents have to be driving at such a time? And on a road well known for speeding accidents? None of it makes any sense to her, and she wonders how she convinced herself for _six months_ that it did.

Biting her thumb nail, Kate glances down as her phone buzzes. She groans internally when she sees it is a message from Kyle. Knowing already what it will be, she sighs as she flicks open the message.

_You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you._

Kate resists the urge to roll her eyes. Kyle is a well meaning, sweet boy but Kate thinks that after everything, he is all together and decidedly too sweet for her. Frowning, she realises there is more to the initial message and scrolls down.

_I’m coming for you Kate._

Well, that’s not creepy at all. She lets out a loud breath and knows that she has to do what she’s been putting off for months now, and break up with Kyle. She cannot break his heart, as she supposes that breaking someone’s heart requires a ruthlessness she does not possess, but she knows she also cannot string him along, when any butterflies that ever may have fluttered for him are long since gone, dead, butchered. Bracing herself, she slowly types out her message.

**_Hi Kyle, sorry I haven’t been responding to your messages lately, but I think that we should take some time apart. I’m on this road trip with my dad and brother and I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone and well, I think it’s for the best. I’m sorry._ **

With her thumb hovering over the send key, Kate hates how much of a coward she is. She spent three years dating Kyle and this is how she ends it with him? In a pitiful text, with a half hearted apology thrown on the end for good measure. She closes her eyes. Tells herself it’s for the best. Hits send.

Dropping her phone, Kate groans and falls backwards, rubbing her fingers over her temples. She’s ashamed, not because she broke up Kyle, but because she barely feels bad about breaking up with Kyle.

She feels the sofa bed dip next to her as Scott settles by her side. He pokes her experimentally in the side and she flings out an arm in a futile attempt to get him to stop. She glares at the snarky grin he offers in response above her.

“What’s up with you?” He asks and even if she would never admit it, something in her sparks to life at her little brother being her little brother again.

“Ibrokeupwithkyle.” She mumbles quietly in a single breath.

“What?” He prompts, nudging her again. She sighs loudly, sitting up.

“I broke up with Kyle.” She admits lowly, toying with her fingers.

“You were together?” He asks, sounding genuinely surprised for a moment for the sarcasm inevitably leaks into his voice. With a scoff she punches him in the arm and he leans back with a yelp, kicking her lightly in the shin. Kate bites back a smile, feeling more alive than she has in _months._

She’s on the verge of pioneering an all out war when she pauses, her smile slipping from her lips as she raises her fingers to her forehead.

“Kate.” Scott says, reaching out to place his palm on her shoulder. She hears him call her, but not as clearly as she should. His voice sounds distant, muffled, as though there’s water filling up her ears.

“Hey Kate, you alright?” Scott asks again, the slight anxiety starting to slip into his words. Kate turns, as if to assure him she’s fine when she gasps, her vision fading for a second before _burning._ She reels her head back, bringing up her palms to cover her eyes because it’s so goddamn _bright_ that it makes her head hurt, ignoring Scott’s urgent tugging on her shoulder.

She squeezes her eyes shut and breaths in short, shallow gasps, her nails digging into her forehead. Slowly, the white haze around her vision begins to faze, and she blinks with eyes that are not her own as the image comes into focus. She’s surrounded by desert, with a blue sky so bright it’s blinding. The land is dull, dry and cracked, and bursting with heat. In front of her is a man, dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt. His dark hair is slicked back with a dangerous amount of hair gel, and his face adorned with a pair of black glasses. Kate is immediately unsettled by his dark, brooding features and sinister gaze. As her eyes travel downward, her eyes widen in fearful disgust. In his arms, he holds the body of a dog. It’s been cut open, with a gaping hole announcing the contents of its stomach loudly to the world, and its jaw hanging half off his face. The man’s hands are wet with the blood of the animal, and the foul odour of death pollutes the air.

**_What the fuc-_ **

“Kate!” Scott wrenches her hands away from her eyes and Kate heaves, coming back into herself. What on _earth_ was that? She brings her hand up to her cross, her breath leaving in ragged pants as she tries to settle. She glances up and finds Scott staring at her in stupefied shock, his eyes wide.

“W-What?” She gasps out, frowning.

“Kate, your- your eyes.” He stutters, raising a crooked finger as he angles his body away from her slightly. She raises her fingertips to her eyes, worried.

“What is it? Scott, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, dumfounded and, to her own shock, a little afraid.

“They were _white.”_

.     .     .     .     .

Splashing her face with cold water, Kate shivers, but is glad for the shock of the icy, numbing water. As she rears back up, she frowns judgementally back at her reflection, rubbing the coarse towel against her face.

Turning to leave, she stops for a second, and cautiously tilts her gaze back to her appearance. She stares into her own murky green eyes and raises trembling fingertips  to trace her eyelids, sloping over her eyelashes and finally, grazing against her pupil.

_White eyes._ She can scarcely imagine it. She remembers the look of fear in Scott’s eyes as he’s appraised her, his confusion. It hurt her, more than she’d care to say, to see her little brother staring at her in such a sense. He’d been _afraid_ of her – of whatever it is that she was.

She hates that.

She swallows, trembling as she thinks of Seth. She’d been _inside_ him. The statement brought a school girl blush to her cheeks as much as she fought it down. It was a step above everything she’d shared with him henceforth – she’d got snapshots of what it was that he’d felt, sensed the shadow of his emotions as they parodied her own, but this, _this_ was something completely indescribable.

On the verge of hysterical laughter (because of course, try and ignore him, hey, you’re inside him now – yeah, that seems about consistent with her recent luck), Kate turns her gaze towards the window, blinking in a sleepy haze as she watches the world blur beyond the frosted pane.

 And then, like the snow of the winter’s Bethel never got, her eyes flicker and flutter until she closes them, and when she opens them again, it’s snowy white eyes she sees bouncing against the glass of the window.

She doesn’t make a sound, but raises her shaking hand up, placing it against her cross. It would appear it is her turn to be invaded now.

She feels the presence of him as he bounces about her mind erratically, his soul sinking down into _her_ bones. He’s unsteady in her skin and she staggers back slightly, falling against the door with a bang as she sinks down onto the floor. He’s _within_ her, he’s literally embodying her, invading her space in the most personal and private way possible.  She feels him behind her flesh, watching everything as she does. She’s still in control of her own body she knows, but he’s a physical part of her – he almost _is_ her.

Her breaths uncertain, she roots blindly around for her purse and when she locates it, pulls it down unsteadily from the counter, the contents tipping onto the cold bathroom tiles. Glancing down, she yanks the pen in her palm and tries to ignore the way she notes her own cherry red nail polish with a sarcastic, barely fond gleam. (By which she means, she ignores the way that _she_ doesn’t note it at all and _hates_ his sardonic nature.)

She traces the word harshly against her arm, leaning on her soft, thin leggings.

_Stay out of my head._

The words are more severe than she intends for them to be, but it would appear she knows no other way to have a conversation with him. 

His reply comes in a slow, lazy drawl along her palm, hazy and cruel.

**_just so long as you stay out of mine princess_ **

Her temper flares, knowing that the nickname reduces her. Knowing that he is reducing her to a child, a spoilt, rotten child, whilst he can’t claim to be anything but. Growling, she stands up quickly, intent to show him who she is, to show him that she is _not_ a child and that whoever he is, she will not let him reduce her to one.

But when she stands up to glare hotly at her reflection, it’s her own flickering green eyes that meet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will say their meeting is v quickly approaching ;)


End file.
